


Reality

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Outlast One-Shots [9]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Depression, Hallucinations, Knifeplay, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-19 00:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12399138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Waylon's struggle with surviving after the events at Mount Massive Asylum.





	Reality

It was right there. So simple and easy. Right there glistening within arm’s reach. Resting on the counter top. Freshly cleaned and sitting with the handle sticking upright in the drying rack. The newly bought utensil was extremely sharp as tested earlier that night while he cut through frozen cuts of meat to separate them. He shivered at the thought, hearing the sound of the metal working through the cold dead flesh of a once living being with such ease. Such precision. It would be no problem at all on something frail and fresh. Something pulsing.

 

His fingers curled into fists, holding the tightly clenched position as his mind argued back against the idea. Debating as per usual. It was happening more and more frequently lately. The conflict. It preceded the nightmares. The darkness that shrouded him each time he closed his eyes. The distant screams and echoes in the night from those ghostly empty halls. It wouldn’t be hard. _They_ did it with such ease. No guilt. No remorse. _No feeling._

 

That was even more enticing to the man. _No feeling._ No more pain. No more nightmares. No more therapists and drugs and questions. No longer being watched and monitored so closely that he was afraid the take a step without second guessing it and debating rather it was in the right direction or if it might seem suspicious to others. _God he was a fucking mess._ He just wanted it all to stop. All of it. The easy way out. It was right there. Calling to him. Crying his name.

 

His fingers uncurled from their positions at his side and before he knew it, they were reaching for the handle. The smooth polished wood, stained an earthy tone that was far darker than the pale origin before it’s end. He thumbed the groove in the handle, made specially for use. No worry about slipping from his hand. He wrapped his fingers around it, tightening the hold. His eyes following the razor edge of the blade. Freshly sharpened. Reflecting his eyes back at him. Those dull empty blue orbs that stared back each time he looked in the mirror. Haunting and lost. His eyes were already far ahead of the rest of him. They were dead. Lifeless. Now all he needed to do was help the rest of his body catch up.

 

He rested the flat side of the blade on the inside of his wrist. The cold chill did little against his hot flesh. Not even the rise of goosebumps or even a shiver. He was already numb. Colder in a deeper sense then flesh could define. He tilted the blade so it’s sharp edge bit into skin. A little bit of pressure and crimson lines rose to the surface but it wasn’t enough. He pressed a little harder and he watched the flesh break but even that wasn’t enough. He curled his fingers into a tight fist and pulled the blade vertically down his arm, watching the veins split open and the heated flow of his own life source spill out onto the floor in large puddles and globs.

 

He groaned, tilting his head back and relishing the burn that rose to the surface. The red stains on his skin was the only other color to reach his pale flesh asides from the dark under eye circles that became a permanent feature with his sunken hollow features and frail form. Malnutrition and lack of appetite made him out to be a walking skeleton. His clothes hung on his frame, the sleeves of his shirt were far too big, forcing him to hold them out of the way so the knife could reach more flesh undeterred.

 

He could hear the soft whispers of his name. Feeling the pull of the other side calling to him. Beckoning to finish what that cursed fucking asylum started. He dropped the blade after a moment, feeling the loss of use in his hand but that was no matter. He had accomplished what he intended. The whispers grew more intense, calling his name louder and louder. _Waylon. Waylon.._

 

“Waylon!”

 

He was startled out of his daze by the loud cry of his name. The feminine figure that voice originated from stood on the other side of the kitchen counter. Staring at him with concerned chocolate orbs. Her caramel colored locks tied back into a haphazard ponytail, a few strands fled the corralling blue scrunchie and hung down into her eyes. She swiped them out of her face as she stared her husband down. “Are you okay?” She asked, her words were soft and sincere.

 

Waylon stared down at his arm, seeing one hand clutching at the wrist with the sleeve shoved up part way, exposing his forearm. Both were trembling. There wasn’t a single sign of blood and when he looked back up he spotted the knife was still resting in the drying rack. His body was leaning back against the counter, slouching partially as he let his head hang.

 

His heart was hammering away in his chest as he shook his head slowly. Tears welling up to his eyes when he realized what he had been doing...how _okay_ he was with it. Even though it was only a day dream, the fact he had imagined it was terrifying. “Oh god...Lisa..” He gasped, drawing his hands up to cover his eyes when the tears started to fall. She rounded the counter and gripped her husband’s shoulders as she guided him to slide down the cabinet and rest in a seated position on the floor. She gathered him into her arms and pulled his head into her chest as he began to sob. “I’m so sorry.”

 

She knew what was going on. They had been struggling for almost  year now with this. It wasn’t anything new to experience but it was frightening all the same. The way Waylon’s eyes would go blank and he seemed as if he had suddenly left. His body was still there but his mind was always somewhere different. Somewhere far from here. It would take a long time to get him back but when he finally snapped out of it, he’d break down. Never saying anything about where he’d go but he’d always break down and she was always there to help pick him back up. Stroking her fingers through his hair and hushing his whimpers. It was hard and some days she was at her wits end but she never gave up. She never gave up because she knew Waylon didn’t either. He came back to her and she wasn’t going to let him down now.


End file.
